


Reach Out and Touch

by Arya_Greenleaf



Series: Kylux Hard Kinks Prompt Fills [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Anal Play, Bottom Armitage Hux, Dry Humping, Face-Fucking, Frottage, Inappropriate Use of the Force, M/M, Spitroasting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 12:44:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9727406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Greenleaf/pseuds/Arya_Greenleaf
Summary: In-advisably, Hux takes Kylo Ren up on the offer of a guided meditation exercise. What happens is not meditation.Or,Inappropriate Use of the Force: The Fanfic





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to the kyluxhardkinks prompt:
> 
> _Kylo double penetrates Hux on his own, either using the Force or a toy. (Or both, works the toy with the Force). What Kylo uses where, mouth or ass, is up to choice._
> 
> Does one in each orifice count as double penetration? I certainly don't know and I have the sordid search history to prove I've tried in earnest to figure it out. I'd already gotten through most of the plot, if it can be called that, before it occurred to me that it might not. They _did_ say author's choice.

Hux isn’t quite sure how he came to be on his knees—any more than he can be sure of how he came to be on his knees in the private sanctuary of Leader Snoke’s favorite pet.

Perhaps by some strange trick of the Force.

***

_So tense, General._

Kylo Ren had purred at Hux through that blasted vocoder. He’d been standing shoulder to shoulder with Hux on the bridge, gazing out at the frigid rock the ship was in orbit around. Hux could immediately feel heat spike beneath his collar and rise into the shells of his ears.

Construction had halted yet again, the home-planet of the durasteel manufacturer that was supplying the Order for the _express purpose_ of completing this project had been re-taken by the New Republic. A formality, truly. Their Senator had never declared for the Order publicly, but new pressures from within the system had put any notion of them doing so completely out of the question. The previous cycle, command had received word that all exports and long-distance communications were being closely monitored.

Hux _was_ tense.

But Kylo Ren, of all of the people who lived and worked on the _Finalizer_ , would not be the one to alleviate that particular stress. While Hux respected the man for his power, he was a persistent thorn in Hux’s side. Ren was downright antagonistic and utterly too suave about it when he wasn’t contenting himself with destroying an unassuming console or battle-training droid.

“Have you ever considered meditation?”

Hux had quietly scoffed and looked down away from the vague reflection of his pinched expression in the transparisteel viewport and focused on the data readout on the console in front of him. The magnetic fields of the planet below were fluctuating again. Not quite as wildly as before, but hollowing out the damn thing wasn’t the safest operation. As long as it didn’t collapse in on itself he’d consider the next several cycles a success. Small victories.

Hux asked, as coolly as he could manage, if Ren ever considered the practice on his own as an alternative to whipping himself into a frenzy.

“I find that a meditative state does not come easily without someone to help in anchoring me in the flow of the Force. They needn’t be a particularly adept user—just a familiar presence, a counterbalance to the general entropy of the universe.”

Hux had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.

“I will be in my quarters for the remainder of the shift cycle after our scheduled holocall with Leader Snoke. I’m sure my fellows won’t mind the—“ He paused, Hux imagined a self-satisfied smile turning up the corners of Kylo Ren’s wide mouth and could practically hear the smirk in his voice as he continued, “— _intrusion._ ”

Hux could swear that the air _felt different_ when he stepped into the wing that housed officers’ quarters which the Knights of Ren had slowly appropriated for their own over the course of the last five standard years. Hux shook his head and put his shoulders back. He was the commander of the flagship of the First Order, designer of the _Starkiller_ weapon. Playing into silly fears and superstitions shared by his subordinates was beneath him in every sense.

The door to the quarters at the extreme end of the wing opend with a quiet pneumatic hiss when Hux stepped within a few feet of it. This time, he did not resist the desire to roll his eyes.

He cleared his throat, heels clicking together smartly and greatcoat swishing around his legs as he came to a halt just a few steps beyond the threshold. The door hissed shut behind him.

The Master of Ren was on the floor in the middle of the modest chamber. Stripped of his heavy draperies, he seemed much more human—more vulnerable and dangerous all at once with his arms and thighs straining against the confines of his leggings and shirt. Hux mused briefly that only Kylo Ren would possess such extravagant underpinning garments as to be made of—what was it? Crosh-hide? On his knees, he was still agonizingly upright—back ramrod straight and arms at his sides. His palms were turned up, his elbows bent just slightly in supplication to some unseen presence.

Mirroring the Master heel-to-heel was one of the Knights. Hux recognized the heavy drape of the sleeveless cape around the Knight’s shoulders as belonging to the one he knew only as _the Monk_. They seemed over-dressed for the occasion in comparison to their Master. Without the death’s head mask, the Monk was a striking Mirialan with skin the color of the forest at eventide. Even at the distance Hux stood from them, he could see the intricate pattern of fine tattoos on the Monk’s face, making them seem as though they didn’t need a mask at all. The Monk appeared far-away, not an inhabitant of their own body at all.

Hux tensed and cleared his throat once more, softly, feeling suddenly as though he’d interrupted some sacred rite not meant for his eyes.

Kylo Ren breathed out, an audible and steady rush of air through parted lips. “General,” he’d said, his voice deep and dream-like. “I didn’t expect you until the beginning of Delta shift _._ ”

The Monk gasped and their distant expression became hyperaware. With hands curled into fists, they rose to their feet in a motion more fluid than Hux could possibly register as more than a single movement. Ren picked himself up from the floor much more languidly. The Monk sneered and turned toward him to say something in a gravelly voice and a language Hux couldn’t place, likely a dialect of his home world.

Hux bristled at the exchange, an overt display of displeasure and obviously directed at Hux himself without giving him the benefit of knowing what exactly was being said against him. Ren looked up, a flick of dark eyes under darker lashes and a smirk twitching across his lips, and then returned his attention to the Monk. Shortly, they were left alone in a dramatic swish of robes and the heavy tap of boots against durasteel.

“I seem to have offended your Knight.”

“Helge does not like to be observed when meditating. He finds it disruptive to his connection with the Force.”

“Is that why you—“

“Back to back? Yes.” He looked Hux up and down, arms crossed over his chest. “I truly didn’t think you’d come.”

“Curiosity.”

“Yes. I see.” He paused, Hux becoming increasingly aware of the fact that he was standing quite alone with Ren in the middle of his sleeping quarters. “What’s that saying? Curiosity and the spukamas. Satisfaction brings him back in the end, yes?”

***

“No,” he says, “On your knees.”

“I highly doubt this exercise will be any more or less effective if I sit in a chair.”

“You must—“

“I must do nothing, Kylo Ren.”

“Mm. Tense _and_ formal.”

Hux grits his teeth and allows his cap and coat to be taken with unusual care. “ _Ren_.”

“Better.” The safety net that the coat provides disappears with the metallic click of the latch on the closet that Ren stashes it in. “You could call me that, you know, if _Kylo_ is too personal for your tastes. Ren. I must confess, General, at times it is quite funny to hear you call us all by complete name and title when you do not communicate with your own crew in that way—all ranks or surnames, rarely both unless some level of discipline is involved, a certain familiarity.”

“Did you ask me here to _mock me_ for attempting to afford you all a measure of respect or to impart some kind of useful wisdom, _Ren_?”

Ren considers him for a moment and then smiles. “Knees, General. Not to worry, I’ll join you.”

Hux purses his lips and sinks to the floor in as dignified manner as he can muster. His knees creak and pop and he cringes at the sound and the twinge that radiates up his thighs.

“Meditation,” Ren begins, still not following through on his assurances and instead crossing the room to the unassuming bunk. He leans over the berth to the nook framed into the wall and selects a small bottle. He uncorks it and passes it beneath his nose before continuing. “Is something that some people never master—those attuned to the universe and the Force around them or not. I’ve been trying for as long as I have memory, but, as I said, I find that when acting _alone_ that I fail. I am… solitary, by nature. I find no ease in personal company. But as a guiding beacon—a tether outside of my own body, my consciousness, company has certainly allowed me to approach something like success on occasion.”

Ren grasps the bottle between his thumb and forefinger and upends it for a moment as he approaches Hux. He reaches out, thumb shining with what appears to be some kind of semi-viscous liquid. Hux jerks away as Ren’s large hand nears his face. “I’ve no intention of getting _high_ , Ren. If that’s your game, you can play it alone. I won’t have momentary enlightenment at the cost of cognition.” He makes to stand and finds a warm, heavy hand on his shoulder, holding him down.

“It isn’t _illicit_ , General.” He tilts the bottle’s mouth in Hux’s direction. “Only oil—scented with lavender. For relaxing.”

Hux holds back a snide comment about bath houses and Twi’leks. Ren squints his eyes, lips pursed and swipes his oil-wet thumb directly beneath Hux’s nose. Hux sputters in protest and attempts to stand once more.

“Knees, General.”

“I don’t see why any of this is necessary! It is _increasingly_ evident that you invited me here with ill-will, Ren. I won’t be undermined on my own karking ship.”

“Calm yourself, General. I am not attempting to undermine you.” Hux’s cheeks flare with heat and he’s sure that his skin has gone splotchy with color. “I don’t know why you think that I am.”

 _Because that is_ all _you ever do._ Hux thinks. Outwardly, he remains stonily silent. He does not attempt to rise again.

“These setbacks with the weapon. They trouble you.” Ren sinks smoothly to his knees in front of Hux. He drags a pair of oil-slick fingers over the notch in his throat and sets the bottle down with a quiet  _clack_ on the floor. He settles in, backside resting against his heels. Hux lowers himself as well, still wary. “Your distress is… bright. Loud.” Ren closes his eyes, tongue sliding between his lips and wetting them. “During rest shifts, especially. Your work keeps you from thinking too hard on it, of course, but when there is no immediate work to be done… It’s distracting, truly.”

Hux’s nostrils flare and his fingers curl involuntarily into fists where they rest against his thighs. He almost wishes he didn’t have his gloves on—the bite of his nails into his palms would have been welcome.

Ren’s expression softens fractionally, a hint of compassion edges into his voice. “I know what it’s like—when nothing goes right, everything falling off track instead of falling into place. If _I_ am distracted, I can only imagine how _you_ feel. My failures, and those things perceived as failures, are ultimately my own. Yours are subjected to the scrutiny of an entire army—of the galaxy that you are attempting to bring to heel.” His brow arches high and the smattering of beauty marks and moles on his pale face shift with the expression. He raised his hands, palms up in offering. “Let me help you. That is why I asked you here.”

Hux stares hard at the hands hovering in the space between them. They look strong, solid. The skin is callused in a way that his own never would be. He looks up into Ren’s face and decides for the moment that there isn’t really any ill-will intended, at the very least nothing overly malicious. Hux tentatively offers his own hands, moving first to grasp Ren about the wrists as if in a firm handshake. Ren tuts and presses his hands forward, indicating their position. Put out, Hux sighs and turns his hands palm up, hovering. Ren looks down at their hands, a quick flick of his eyes, and Hux finally settles into the cup of Ren’s large palms.

Ren squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and breathes out.

“What?”

“The Force around you is just… _turmoil_.” He breathes in and out again. “Are you comfortable?”

Hux shifts slightly and his knees crack again in response.

“Close your eyes.”

“ _Ren_.”

“Hux.”

Taken back, Hux draws away slightly—wary. Jaw clenched, he closes his eyes. After long moments of silence in which nothing terrible befalls him, Hux begins to relax. The tension leaves his jaw and he allows his hands to sit fully flush against Ren’s palms. Ren hums, an approving sound, and it reverberates in Hux’s gut.

“Try to clear your mind.”

“Yes, Ren, _General Hux_ can clear his mind.”

Ren snorts and Hux cracks an eye open to peer at him. He seems to be dipping toward an odd serenity. Odd, because it is not a state Hux has ever witnessed him in.

“Fine then, _open_ your mind. Feel the Force around you.”

“I am _not_ —I am not like you.”

“You needn’t be. Just… imagine it. Imagine that you are connected to what is around you. The atmosphere, the power of the ship, the organics around you.”

Hux closes his eyes properly once more. “Like… strings?”

“Mm. If that is how you can visualize it.”

Hux sighs and pretends he can see them, tethers reaching out from himself to each member of his crew—to Helge, the Monk, wherever he was in this wing of the ship—to Kylo Ren, in front of him, hardly any slack between them.

“Good.”

“Can you see it? What’s in my head?”

“I have an impression of it, yes.”

“Can you often—see my mind, that is? Not just… feel my disturbance, as it were?”

“I don’t make it a regular habit. But when thoughts are directed at me, especially strongly or deliberately, they’re hard to ignore.”

More silence passes between them. Hux imagines that he might pluck at any one of the strings he has created in his mind and have his own impression of what is happening—what performances Captain Phasma might be reviewing, whom she might be recommending for reprogramming—where Lieutenant Mitaka is standing on the bridge and if he is struggling to maintain order.

“Now,” Hux snaps back into himself, feeling a bit childish for having been lost in the imaginary _Finalizer_ in his head. “Allow the universe—the Force—to reach out to you. All of the tethers from all the other things and organics and energies,” Ren takes a breath and lets it out slowly so it brushes over Hux’s cheeks in a warm stream, “do not simply connect you to them, but them to you.”

Hux frowns, displeased at the notion. “I don’t think that this—“

“Please.”

Hux shifts, flexing his toes inside his boots. With and annoyed huff he attempts to conjure up some kind of usable image in his head, something like the reverse of what he’d pictured before. “This is useless.”

Hux swears that Ren is hiding a laugh when he clears his throat. “It’s alright.” He seems to consider it a moment. “Try to imagine… Your strings, yes? Your tethers? Imagine… tentacles. No—that’s a bit disconcerting. Hands, perhaps, fingers. Invisible, entirely unseen, but solid nonetheless. Imagine them gliding along your tethers, using them as a guide to reach you.”

“Mph.”

“Let them touch you. Let the Force wrap itself around you. And then you are free of all tethers—in the Force, your consciousness may wander, may examine problems in new light, may reach into the future or the past, and—“

“You are forgetting, Ren, that I have no connection to the Force.”

“That’s not true.” Hux opens his eyes to see Ren looking at him, an earnest and open expression. “Everything and everyone is touched by the Force—has the Force in them. Some are just able to interact with it in a more direct manner.”

Hux huffs in amusement, “So if I train hard enough I might one day be the master of you?”

A shallow smile quirks at the edges of Ren’s mouth. A tense silence hangs between them. Hux closes his eyes once more and lets out a slow breath. _Fine then. The Force is a thing with hands that can touch me. Preposterous._

He is lulled into a sense of calmness by the tandem sounds of their breathing. Minutes crawl by and Hux feels a velvety blackness spread out across his mind. He fears for a moment that he is falling asleep and shivers as something cool and light dances up his spine.

Hux hurtles toward awareness at the sensation of gentle fingers running from palm to fingertip—hands squeezing his shoulders—knuckles rubbing, blunt and hard, against the cords of lean muscle in his thighs. He sucks in breath, feeling suddenly empty, and wonders for the slightest fraction of a second if he truly has connected to the Force, if there is something in him so repressed that it must be teased out in this ludicrous manner.

“Ren, I—“

Ren’s hands, warm and dry against the backs of his, move away so swiftly that Hux nearly topples forward. He regains his composure quickly, blinking rapidly up at Ren’s retreating form.

“I apologize, General. It was not my intent to—“

“That was you? Touching me?” Hux shakes his head and looks down at his hands, still hovering in the air in front of himself. “Your hands never left mine. I felt them, you didn’t—“

Ren raises a hand and splays his fingers with an elegant turn of his wrist. Hux can’t help the shocked expression he feels forming on his face, widening his mouth into a surprised kind of _O_. He’d witnessed on countless occasions men flying across rooms, the breath choked from them—prisoners screaming and pleading in agony when it seemed nothing was actually being done to them. It does shock and surprise him then that the Force, or what he assumed was the Force, might be applied in such a gentle manner. Hux leans into it, the caress of fingers against his cheek, disappointed when it fades.

“I overstepped—I allowed myself to be carried away, I am sorry.” Ren paces closer to his bunk and casually holds out one hand. The bottle of aromatic oil he’d set down at the start of their exercise shoots across the room toward him. Plucking it from the air easily, he places it back on the shelf and sits down heavily at the edge of his bunk. “You were trying so earnestly to do what I asked of you. I only meant to give you some satisfaction of having possibly done it.”

Hux curls his fingers into loose fists and pulls them close to his chest, a futile attempt to protect himself.

How long had it been since anyone touched him? Something more than a withering handshake at the end of a conference?

Ren may have certainly overstepped some unspoken boundary but Hux—

Hux found himself unable to grant the admonishment Ren expected.

From his place on the floor, Hux gazes up, sure he looks like some starving child given a treat on Life Day.

“Do it again.”

Ren jerks back as if physically attacked. “Excuse me?”

“Touch me again—like that—without… without your hands.”

“ _General_.”

“Ren— _Kylo_ , please. Again.” Hux purses his lips to trap any more nonsense behind them. In spite of everything, he is decidedly less tense. “It was… effective.” Slowly, tentatively, he feels the weight of an invisible touch. His hands come away from his chest and his fingers uncurl. His hair feels ruffled though he doesn’t have the sense that it’s actually moved at all. His scalp is scratched at pleasantly. Feather-light touches splay out across his cheeks and disappear under the tight rim of his collar. Hux looks at Ren with bright eyes. “Don’t stop.”

Ren leans forward, elbows braced against his knees. His brows come together in an expression that might equally be interpreted as concentration or agitation. Hux struggles to remain upright at the sensation of large hands splaying over his chest and back, the insistent touch of a pair of lovers that rubs firmly down his torso. More hands touch his arms and legs, they continue to dance over his cheeks and sooth the tenderness of his tired eyes. Hux gasps as the hands at his back knead into his backside. Ren is looking at him questioningly from across the room and Hux nods, wanting.

Ren starts and stops, shifting to rise and then sitting again several times before resolving to stand. Hux leans back on his heels as Ren approaches, overwhelmed by the all-enveloping _touch_ of everything and nothing. His eyes dance over Ren’s ridiculous leggings and shirt and he wonders what the crosh-hide might feel like—supple? Smooth? Warm?

His breath catches in his chest at Ren’s unabashed arousal. He drags his thoughts away from the touches on his own body and directs them into putting some coherent form to his desire to not only be touched, but _to touch_.

To feel someone else’s flesh yielding beneath his fingertips.

Ren’s legs tense when Hux reaches out, but he does not flinch away.

The crosh-hide is everything Hux imagines and more, or rather, he imagines it might be were his own fingers not still gloved. He sighs and shudders as unseen hands continue to touch him, the pressure of them becoming more insistent. Ren breathes in, his chest rising and his stomach pulling in toward his spine beneath his shirt. Hux presses his hands upward, gulping when his fingertips catch on the hem of Ren’s shirt. He looks up imploringly, rising more fully onto his knees. Ren closes his eyes and nods once, slowly.

Hux fumbles for the waist of the leggings and groans openly as his backside is pressed again, an insistent kneading that if corporeal may have spread him open. With no small measure of trepidation, Hux peels the leggings down.

He doesn’t hide his astonishment at Ren’s cock, half hard and heavy as it falls. Hux can feel the pinpricks of heat in his cheeks and the intense blush that rises into his ears and sweeps down beneath his uniform jacket.

“Ren?” he whispers, momentarily unsure of how to proceed.

Ren swallows and opens his eyes, looking down at Hux over the elegant planes of his cheeks. “May I?” he asks, voice deep and dark.

Hux doesn’t quite know what he means but nods all the same. He cries out, gripping the bunched up crosh-hide leggings tightly and pressing his knuckles into Ren’s thighs. All at once Hux feels incredibly _stretched_ and _full_ with none of the discomfort that should accompany a hasty fucking. He leans forward and rests his cheek against Ren’s hip.

Ren trembles. His cock twitches alongside Hux’s nose. “Ren,” he breathes and runs a tentative finger along the contrasting ridge of a vein.

“Your—your mouth.” Ren pauses and swallows. “Please.”

Hux nods, his cheek warm against Ren’s skin— _oh, his skin_ , _this is what skin feels like_ —he says, yes, of course, as if that were the obvious turn—and it is. Gloved hands move, releasing the bunched up crosh-hide and lifting Ren’s cock carefully. Hux tilts his body away, eyeing the appendage before settling with the warm girth and satisfying weight of it _just_ on his tongue.

_Oh._

The fullness shifts, the stretch stretches and settles.

“Is that—“ Ren coughs. “Is it— _Maker_.” Hux responds by closing his lips and giving an experimental suck.

It’s not long before there is another pair of hands touching Hux—Ren’s wide, warm palms rest on his head and his fingers tangle in Hux’s hair and break up his carefully laid pomade.

Hux is bewildered by the persistence of the foreign but pleasant intrusions. For a frightening moment he can’t remember what he’s meant to do and feels like some pathetic cadet fumbling in the field house in the dark—but the weird fullness slides and angles and his body remembers. His mind races and he dips his head forward, just to see. His eyes water and he coughs and he has no expectations of fooling himself. He wraps a hand around Ren’s cock, fifth digit pressed against the root of him. Hux thinks for a moment of pulling back and yanking his gloves off of his hands again. He wants to feel the hair, shining against the matte black of his gloves, curling around his fingers instead. Ren shudders and give his hips a slow push forward and the thought fizzles away.

Ren is surprisingly gentle with his big hands cradling Hux’s skull. His heavy breath ruffles Hux’s hair and tickles across the bridge of his nose. He’s conservative in his responsiveness, little hitches of breath and broken sounds that range in pitch when Hux prods with his tongue and rubs it against the soft ridge of flesh when Ren is finally completely hard and the skin around his head is rolled off in arousal.

They go on at a frustratingly slow pace for some time, Hux’s lips beginning to object to the press between teeth and thumb as he bobs his head and twists his fist. Finally, _finally_ , Ren moves his hips less than gently. Hux’s body pitches back, supported by the hold Ren’s got around his neck and— _oh—_ everything is deeper and the invisible hands that had faded into a barely-there touch are persistent and wanting and holding him everywhere Ren isn’t.

Ren shifts his weight and nearly topples the both of them. Hux gasps and yanks his mouth away and they are steady again in seconds with Hux’s body bracketed by strong legs and one of Ren’s feet between his splayed knees. Hux tips his hips upward, brushing himself against a crosh-hide covered leg and earns a curious look.

Ren curls his toes and inches his foot closer, small readjustments making his thighs and arms twitch.

Hux rolls his hips forward again and his cheeks burn in earnest when Ren turns Hux's head and taps the flushed head of his cock against his lips.

“Shameful,” he whispers and opens his mouth. _Pathetic_ , he thinks and rubs his own half-hard cock against Ren’s leg through the layers of their clothing. _Depraved_ , he thinks and sinks back—repeatedly fucking himself onto the cock that isn’t there as he moves.

Ren grunts and Hux digs his fingertips into Ren’s hips, an anchor-point against the way that Ren rolls them while Hux struggles to swallow around his cock. His eyes water from the effort and Ren gasps.

He looks far less imposing and mystic in this light—with the pink on his cheeks racing down into the collar of his crosh-hide shirt and damp little strands of hair clinging in swirls to his temples.

“ _Hux_ , I’m—“

Hux closes his eyes and nods awkwardly. He sucks hard as Ren’s hips stutter, his easy rhythm turning staccato as he comes. Hux coughs, utterly inelegant, and Ren’s cock bobs free—the last streaks of his climax painting crudely across Hux’s nose and lips. Ren is trembling and gripping Hux’s hair too tightly, forcing his head back. Hux shouts in surprise, his most intimate spaces stoked and prodded with redoubled effort. Ren lifts his foot _just so_ off the floor, pressing the wide dorsal between Hux’s legs.

Impossibly, his cheeks burn brighter as the confines of his shorts grow uncomfortably wet.

Hu laughs, nonsensically high, when Ren awkwardly helps him to sprawl on the floor. Ren lies beside Hux in an unkempt heap, absentmindedly stroking himself he stares up at the ceiling. Hux turns his cheek against the cool durasteel floor, grimacing at the tackiness clinging to his cheek and smearing.

“That didn’t seem much like meditation.”

“No.”

“Was that,” Hux swallows, throat dry and abused-feeling. “Was that the point of this?”

“No.”

They lay there panting, coming back to themselves. Hux finally removes a glove and swipes at the cooling come on his nose with a curled finger. Ren makes an ugly face but issues no further objection when Hux reaches across to press the mess to his open lips.

Hux watches for a moment, a heated tingle in his belly while Ren sucks on his finger. “Give me a minute.”

“For?”

“Let me catch my breath—then I’m going to fuck you six ways to Tatooine.”

Ren laughs and neither of them notice the opening and closing of the pneumatic door in quick succession, or the surprised sound the Knight who happened upon them makes.

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe next I'll write about those six ways. Anyone interested?
> 
> Thank you to my dear [noxo](http://noxogoth.tumblr.com) for the alternate title ;)
> 
> Leave this soul crushingly single person a comment for Valentine's Day, would ya? :D I hope I added a little spice to yours!
> 
>  
> 
> [all the star war hoopla here](http://avaahren.tumblr.com)


End file.
